Drabble-Shots
by Asaryn
Summary: Not quite Drabbles, not quite One-Shots. A collection of short stories based on one word prompts. Today's update -Different: Danny had been acting strange ever since the accident. Then again, things hadn't exactly been 'normal' for a while.
1. Prisoner

Doing a short series of drabble-shots so I can get back into the habit of writing. I'm hoping one a day at this stage, but that might be a smidge optimistic.  
Each chapter is based off a random word. Some will have obvious connections, while others will take a bit of thought. This one's rated 'T' for themes. Enjoy.

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'Prisoner'

By Asaryn

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It was the eyes, she concluded. The way they shone under the fluorescent lights, leaking frantic tears as the vile creature whimpered and desperately curled away from her touch -it was almost enough to make her reconsider what she was about to do. They were too familiar. The dilated pupils, thinly veiled tears, violent shuddering of breath -her son had looked at her the same way just weeks earlier after collapsing in her arms.

But these tears weren't real, she knew that. She could see past the monster's fake emotions to its faintly glowing eyes and green blood, to the fangs and claws and deadly glint of cunning she knew **_had_** to be waiting just beyond its tears.

It couldn't hide behind its deceptions forever. She wouldn't allow it. _Couldn't_ allow it. She could ignore the screaming, the curses and the pleas. But when he looked at her with those uncomfortably familiar eyes, she couldn't handle the betrayal she saw there.

Making a snap decision, she picked up her scalpel, willed her hand to stop shaking, and lowered it towards the creature's face. Just one cut. That's all it would take to make it stop. _Just. One. Cut…_


	2. Timid

This time around I wanted to point out to you guys that I'm not choosing these prompts myself. They're given out at a website called 'one word . com', which is a great little tool for overcoming writers block if you happen to be struggling with that like I am. You're given sixty seconds to write as much as you can about one word -of course, I'm bending the rules a little bit: these entries have a little more time put into them.

That said, this one's a little longer than last. Length of a chapter will depend on how much time I have to write and how inspired I am by the prompt. Enjoy.

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Timid

By Asaryn

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Sometimes you would see him in the streets, alone, back to a wall, hands shoved in pockets as he watched the world whirl by. To a stranger he would seem arrogant, perhaps even rude. Never once would he return a hello, and rarely did he meet any one's eyes -but if he did, for even the briefest moment, the well-meaning smile would disappear from the person's face immediately as they rushed to flee the boy with the tortured gaze.

It hadn't always been this way, but there were things –dark, frightening things- that had happened in his life recently to change that. He could no longer look into the eyes of strangers without wondering if they would end up another one of his failures. Another victim.

Another enemy.

He'd known for a long time the dead were capable of returning to earth. Heck –his whole life over the past two years had revolved around that very fact. It was only when the responsibilities of one of those deaths sat squarely on his shoulders did he realise the terrifying possibilities.

"I'm scared."

Danny glanced down, fists clenching tighter as his eyes fell on the form of a six year old girl. She wore a filthy orange sundress that fell past her knees, and her black hair reached just short of her shoulders. Her face was streaked with tears.

"Yeah," Danny looked past her, scanning the oncoming traffic. School had ended an hour ago, and his parents still hadn't shown. "I know."

"You said we would find Mommy."

The teenager made a noncommittal sound, "I know."

"I want to go home."

He sighed to himself.

"Mom isn't …around anymore. She went looking for you when-" he swallowed numbly. Two deaths. He was responsible for two deaths now, and he was stuck with the whimpering toddler. Why? "What I'm saying is you won't find her here."

Why didn't they both cross over?

"Why not?"

Danny didn't answer for a moment, bowing his head as a stranger happened by. The less people saw him talking to himself, the better. "She's looking for you in a different place," he muttered.

"Can we go there? Please?"

"_I_ can't," he replied sadly. "I'm not sure about you, though. Only …special people get to go."

She remained anchored to his leg, one tiny hand fisting in the fabric of his jeans. He could feel the coldness seeping through the denim. "I _am_ special; and you are, too. You talk to me, and see me, and you helped me with the floadin'." Her green eyes widened -all moisture and red, puffy flesh, "you do magic."

"Give it some time. I'm sure you'll be just as _magical_ soon enough," he shook his head woefully. "Besides, you're twice as special as me. If you can't get in, I've got no chance."

"But I want to go."

Danny piped up as a familiar vehicle tore through the intersection. He breathed a sigh of relief before remembering his unwanted company. She was too weak at this stage to be seen by humans, but if his parents' equipment detected her…

"I'm sorry, but you have to go back to sleep for a while, alright? We'll keep looking tomorrow." Danny hurriedly fetched the thermos from his school bag, keeping it close to his body so it wouldn't be spotted by his folks. The girl let out a frightened whimper, backing away.

"No no no no no! Please, Mr Phantom, don't-"

He stepped closer, "Shh, it's fine. We'll find her, I promise. Just…"

"But …I'm scared-"

The RV pulled up beside him just as the beam of light dispersed, taking the ghost's pleas with it. He climbed into the car, wracking his brain for a solution to the problem. There was always an answer.

He just had to find it.

And if he couldn't today, there was always tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next. After all, it was his fault she was dead. She was the one he hadn't saved.

What else could he do?

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A big thanks to MsFrizzle for taking the time to review last chapter. :)


	3. Reconstruction

Thanks to kebby7130 for their lovely review.

Something a little more light-hearted today. Enjoy.

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'Reconstruction'

By Asaryn

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"It's not funny."

"I'm gunna have to disagree with you on that one," Tucker said, snickering. The bespectacled teenager was sitting with his back to the door, ensuring no-one would walk in on their little escapade.

Danny shot his friend a glare before turning back to the counter. "It's this one, right?"

Tucker squinted at the palm-sized container, "nope, eye-shadow. Try again."

"Does it matter?" Danny demanded, tossing the container back into the bag. "It's all supposed to cover stuff up, right?"

"Dude, it's about the layers." He shrugged, clicking away on his PDA and not bothering to look up. "You gotta start with the base. If later you decide you want that shimmery glow, we can work it out. For now, start with the concealer."

"This is stupid." Danny grumbled, pawing through his mother's make-up bag. "And you know way too much about make-up."

Again, a shrug. "Mom always wanted a daughter."

"Wow."

"Just hurry up and put something on, would you? You look like a corpse."

Danny turned towards his reflection, wincing. Dark shadows surrounded his eyes, and his cheeks sported a sickly green tinge. Not to mention how pale he'd become over the last few hours; if he didn't do something, his mom was going to blow a fuse. "I _feel_ fine."

"You fell five stories onto cement pavement. You shouldn't be alive, let alone _fine_."

"I guess durability comes with the territory," he replied uncertainly. "You know, being half ghost and all."

"Yeah, but I'm guessing that's also why you look like you've spent the last few days in a morgue."

Ignoring him, Danny smudged a creamy liquid between his fingers, lips curling up in disgust. Now that he'd finally found the right kind of make-up, he was beginning to have second thoughts.

"People really put this on their face _every day_?"

Tucker grinned. "Yup."

A moment of silence passed between them. Then, Danny said, "if you tell _anyone_, the PDA's gone."

"Fine."

"That means Sam. And Jazz. My parents, too."

He chuckled, "not a word."

Danny sighed shakily. He may have been capable of facing Amity Park's most frightening array of ghostly enemies, but this would take a different kind of courage.

* * *

Jeez. Danny should work on his crash landings.

This one's kind of a reference to one of the fan theories floating around the interwebs. Namely Danny's healing abilities. I theorised that while in human form, his ghostly energy would still be largely present in order to repair (reconstruct) his body.

Also, the presence of concentrated ectoplasm would make his condition appear to be deteriorating, even while the opposite is actually true -hence why he looked like death but was actually on the mend. The green of the ectoplasm would cause his skin to appear discoloured and sickly, and would become more obvious in areas like around the eyes, lips, and anywhere else where blood runs close to the surface of the skin.

So there. I managed to write something that didn't revolve around angst for once. I feel weird somehow.

As always, thanks for reading.


	4. Rebound

My muse took the day off, so I worked on writing an actual drabble for once. It's 100 words exact -something that's much harder to do than I first anticipated.

I'm also thinking of taking prompt requests. If anyone has any they'd like to share, don't hesitate in sending them in via PM or review. That'd be really cool of you.

Enjoy.

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'Rebound'

By Asaryn

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"This plan isn't very thought out."

"Just for a few seconds, I swear." Tucker waved a twenty dollar bill under his friend's nose, which Danny promptly swatted away. "C'mon, I'll pay you."

"Too many things could go wrong," Danny insisted. "Besides, it's super creepy in those things. You can't hear or see or feel _anything_."

"But you put ghosts in them all the time."

"If I ever go crazy and start destroying the town, go ahead and shove me in a thermos. But I'm _not _going in there to get you a date with a ghost hunter, rebound or not."

* * *

He's talking about Valerie, in case that wasn't clear.

Thanks again to MsFrizzle for their review. Feedback is loved, as always.


	5. Seldom

This one was hard. Trying to write something based on an unusual or rare event made characterisation difficult, which is ironically one of the aspects of my writing I feel needs improvement.  
I'm beginning to think these prompts are trying to mess with me ._.;

Long story short, I'm not entirely happy with it, but I'm pressed for time ...so it'll have to do.

Enjoy?

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'Seldom'

By Asaryn

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Jack stood silently at the foot of the stairs, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. It was late, almost to the point of early morning, but he'd felt oddly energized the last few hours and had decided to put his motivation to good use.

His inspiration had finally waned, however, sending him in search of caffeine.

There were several unfinished repair jobs lying exposed on his workbench, circuitry and wires strewn across its surface like the leavings of a mechanical autopsy. He'd been meaning to get around to them for a while, but it was no secret he was an easily distracted man.

He doubted though, that such a sight as he was now seeing would fail to catch the attention of even the most focused individuals.

At first his reaction had been borderline furious, and Jack prided himself in being an 'act first, think later' kind of man. However, the strange occurrence was enough to make him hesitate. That hesitation had evolved into curiosity, and that split second of indecision had soon rolled over into several minutes. For some reason, the urge to do something about the intruder just wasn't there.

Clutching his coffee, Jack stepped out of the stairwell and cautiously strode across the room, coming to stand several feet behind his oblivious guest. The hum of the now active portal masked the sounds of his approach, and the trespasser had their attention so focused on the device they didn't notice his presence.

Jack cleared his throat, and was rewarded as Phantom all but jumped out of his skin.

"Wha-" For a split second the ghost flickered into intangibility, obviously startled. It spun towards the source of the sound, eyes widening in horror, "t-this isn't what it looks like."

"Long night?" Jack asked, noticing the bruises under the ghost's eyes. Ghosts didn't have a need to sleep –their bodies were capable of restoring themselves around the clock. Still, an excess use of energy sometimes gave them symptoms of fatigue, as was Phantom's case.

"…Y-you could say that." The ghost replied warily, its glowing eyes trained on his. "I was just …Putting them back."

"The ghosts?" Jack glanced at the control panel, noticing the Fenton thermos hooked up to the draining unit. Deciding to ignore the obvious theft, he instead focused on a more pressing matter. "You do this often?"

"Someone has to," Phantom's expression was concerned. "Are you …feeling alright?"

"Fine. Why?"

The ghost blew a strand of hair out of his eyes, considering its response. "I'd usually have a gun pointed at my head by now, is all."

Jack said, "I expected you to do another runner."

A gloved hand shot up to rub the back of its neck, lips pulling into a timid smile. "Yeah, well, this is my only thermos. I kinda need it."

"Fair enough." Jack stifled a yawn, glancing down at the cup in his hands. That hadn't been one of his greatest ideas –he hadn't even had a sip, and now all he wanted to do was go to bed. What a waste. "You don't happen to like coffee, do you ghost?"

Phantom's eyes lit up, "my parents never let me have it before."

"Well …I suppose it won't do you any harm now," Jack held out the mug, which the ghost reverently accepted. "I'm gunna get some shut-eye. Lock the portal up when you're done."

The ghost's eyes widened, "what…?"

But Phantom never got a response. The ghost stood clasping the mug close to its chest, unblinking, watching bemused as the man disappeared up stairs. It would likely never know exactly why the man had shown him decency, and it would soon learn it was only a minor lapse in their ongoing quarrels. But for those few moments, the ghost felt a warmness in its chest that had nothing to do with the drink in his hands.

Grinning to itself, the ghost took a sip of coffee and chuckled. "Goodnight, Dad."

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These two have the weirdest Father-Son relationship ever. I love it.

Thanks to Emmazippy577, kebby7130, krikanalo and PhantomHeart22 for their reviews. You've made someone very happy.

Feel free to leave a prompt for me -remember, just one word. Coming up with the plot is my problem.


	6. Blame

Thanks to kebby7130, MsFrizzle,NerdyWriterGirl, koryandrs, and PhantomHeart22 for their reviews.

Sorry for the short absence, it's been a busy week. As an apology, here's a lil' preschooler Danny.

Enjoy.

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'Blame'

By Asaryn

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Danny folded his arms, staring down at his feet. His cheeks were red and sore, and every time he wiped his eyes they felt wet. He didn't remember crying, but he couldn't say he regretted it; turning on the waterworks had helped lessen his punishment many times in the past, and this occasion had been no exception. His teachers could never keep a stern voice once his chin began to wobble.

Of course, there would be no worming his way out of this once his mother arrived.

As much as Danny wanted to wallow in his bad mood, his partner-in-crime wouldn't allow it. A set of fingers brushed against his cheek, inquisitive eyes seeking Danny's own.

"Stop it," Danny snapped, shifting to the edge of his seat. His friend, startled, averted his eyes and kicked his feet idly, saying nothing. Danny could feel the concern radiating from the person beside him, but he did nothing to alleviate it. It was _his_ fault he was in this mess, anyways.

After a moment, Danny decided he didn't quite feel like keeping this opinion to himself. He looked sidelong at his companion, "Mom's gonna be real mad, you know."

His friend looked up, giving a light shrug and an eye roll in answer.

Danny huffed, "you don't even care."

His friend shook his head and smiled, reaching out once more to make contact with Danny's cheek. The toddler didn't object, allowing himself to get lost in the calming numbness that spread through his counterpart's fingers. He had to admit, despite the trouble he caused, the boy was always good at making him feel better. Somehow.

If only he wouldn't cause the trouble to begin with.

"You can't do that stuff to people," Danny continued, pulling at his once-white T-shirt. Mrs Christopher had promised the paint would wash out, and though he didn't particularly mind, he doubted it did anything to comfort the primary target. That Emily girl always had been a wuss, but that wasn't the point. Nobody like to have their head shoved in a can of paint.

The other boy's mood darkened, green eyes seeming to dim. "Bad people," he said softly, "need to be punished."

It was Danny's turn to look concerned. He poked his friend's arm, feeling him tremble. "By teachers, not by you."

His lip twitched, "they're bad too. They make you sad."

"S'kay. I was just pretending."

His companion gave him a look that suggested he didn't buy it, but decided to drop it. "Sorry, then."

Danny nodded, "yeah."

They shared a moment's silence. Danny wondered if the teachers had managed to get the paint out of Emily's hair yet. His own hands were coated in the stuff, which was exactly why he'd ended up with the blame. He'd tried to explain he'd only been trying to help, but that hadn't exactly worked out.

Of course, as always, his friend was completely spotless.

In that moment, his friend's head shot up to look at the door, his hands gripping the seat as he smirked, "Mom's here."

Danny felt his heart stutter. True to form, the boy gave a parting glance and disappeared into thin air, leaving him to face the blame.

In the split second of calm, Danny wondered if he needed new friends. Then the door burst open to reveal his fuming mother, and he decided Phantom couldn't exactly be blamed for running from that.

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Plot Bunny #2,592: Danny grows up with Phantom by his side. However, Danny's the only one who can see him, leading everyone to think it's just an imaginary friend thing. Danny also gets into a heap of trouble due to Phantom's overly obsessive tendencies and protectiveness towards Danny.

Here, a little girl was calling Danny names and well, Phantom didn't take it lightly. There also happened to be a can of paint nearby leftover from last week's renovations.

Thanks for reading. 


	7. Different

Thanks to koryandrs and kebby7130 for the reviews.

This one's an AU of mine that's kind of sort of in the works. No promises yet, it's more of a free-floating idea at the moment. I have most bits plotted in my mind but I can't seem to get them out on paper. You know how it is.

The characters, setting, and backgrounds have been tweaked to suit a different series of events -but not so much that they're unrecognisable. It also follows a different lore, meaning more than just ghosts are likely to pop up from time to time should I decide to take this on.

I'm genuinely just testing the waters with this one, so feel free to let me know if you don't like it. Or if you do. That'd be great, too. Feedback in general is loved.

Enjoy? ._.;

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'Different'

By Asaryn

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_**-Pos·ses·sion:**__ The state of having, owning or controlling something. In terms of paranormal science, the term possession has several other applications. Possession is most commonly used to describe a situation in which a living being, usually humanoid, has been taken over/is being controlled by a spectral entity(1) against his/her consent. Victims of this phenomena may experience or show signs of unexplained bruising, loss of appetite, headache, agitation, depression, insomnia, mood swings, nausea, sudden weight loss, fatigue, and loss of memory. _

_Though these can be good indicators of a paranormal influence, it is often hard to make a proper diagnosis as the above symptoms are attributed to many common natural ailments. However, there is another way to identity victims which is regarded as having an exceptionally higher hit-rate. It has been proven that many entities powerful enough to occupy a human body not only alter the mind, but the physical body as well(2). These alterations are often seen as unnatural additions to the host's natural state, and usually aide the manifestation in offensive and defensive behaviours should they be necessary. Fortunately, they are often easy to recognise and are an excellent and necessary tool in classifying a possessed personnel, leading to a higher success rate for exorcisms and containment missions.- _

_(1) See 'Chapter 3 - Parasitic Entities' pg. 259 for a complete list. _

_(2) According to a series of studies by Dr Fredrick A. Schmidt, 1984. _

* * *

Maddie sat at the dining table alone, loose papers and binders scattered chaotically across its surface. The overhead light bulb cast a dull light over the mother's workspace, casting a shadow from her slumped figure as she leant forward in her chair. She'd spent a good portion of the last hour wondering how much longer she'd manage to keep it powered.

Eyes trailing over the same paragraph over and over without interpreting what was really there, Maddie was fighting a losing battle. She_ knew_ this stuff. It was the very basics of her profession, but her fatigue wouldn't allow her to retain any of it. Her eyelids were lead weights, yet she couldn't possibly sleep.

Not now.

Bills were piling up. Payments were going way past overdue. Their bank account was becoming sorely underfed due to an absence of a stable income. The lack of sleep was widespread, making it hard to find the motivation to tend to any of it.

The woman sat back in her seat and discarded the textbook among the mess, picking open another envelope. It was an envelope that, upon inspection, clearly didn't belong among her stacks of private research. Staring blankly at its contents, it soon became obvious that it was a letter from their local hospital, reminding her yet again of fees long past due.

She scoffed, picking up another folder.

She peeled back the seal and galnced at the contents. Inside laid multiple photographs, detailing what appeared to be a sick child. A letter written in haste by desperate parents, grappling what they thought was their last hope, slipped into her lap. Maddie sighed, then pried open the parchment and began to read.

Although she'd grown to expect it, each new possession case was like a fresh slap to the face. Especially when the victim was a child –it reminded her of her own failures and vulnerabilities. She'd never felt that way before, but ever since the accident...

...Ever since Danny...

Inside the letter were stories of strange behaviour and body horrors, of languages never before heard, of aggression and strange eating habits and a refusal to be touched. A plea for help. Of her help. The person that had written the letter was obviously frantic. Or at least had been -judging from how far along the victim seemed, it was likely their plea had come too late.

On the backs of her eyelids, Maddie saw a hospital bed. Flashing lights and wailing monitors. A casket. Freshly dug earth and dying flowers.

She set down the folder and eyed the coffee machine for the eighth time that night, wondering how much caffeine was too much. It didn't seem to be helping her any. Besides, she'd long since run out of sugar and now the scolding liquid was nothing but a bitter taste in her mouth.

Maddie pressed her forehead against the wooden table and sighed deeply, trying to keep her head clear of the images that haunted her. Maybe she could just rest her eyes. Maybe...

* * *

A hand on her shoulder jolted her awake, her bleary eyes searching for the offender. At first she expected it to be her husband, but when he blinked up and saw the dark-haired silhouette of her youngest child, Maddie sat bolt upright with a yelp.

"D-Danny-? I-I..."

"You should go to bed if you're tired, Mom," said Danny, "you don't look so good."

Maddie pursed her lips, studying her son. The corners of his mouth were slightly upturned as if in humour, but a slight dullness to his eyes clearly hinted at his grief. He was still suffering. Still restless.

"I can't, sweetie. I've got too many things to do," she replied.

Her son's half-lidded eyes trailed the mounds of paper littering the table, a frown tracing his lips. "I don't suppose it can wait until morning...?"

"Sorry, honey."

"Well then," Danny's eyes gleamed in challenge, locking with hers. They seemed to glint with something other than the usual bluster, though; something Maddie could only guess was repressed fear. He pulled out a chair and slumped in it, resting his elbows on the table, "I'll keep you company."

"Danny, don't do this," Maddie pleaded. "You need to rest."

"So do you."

There was silence. Maddie studied her son's condition with concern –his skin was pale and bruised under the eyes, and there seemed to be an uncertain wariness about him that hadn't been there before. He looked like he'd keel over at any second. Yet, at the same time, her son managed to maintain his stubbornness.

It was no less reassuring than it was agitating.

"You go to bed, and I'll wrap this up," she compromised, crossing her arms. It'd be irresponsible to keep him up any longer. And besides, she supposed she could use the rest herself. "I suppose a few hours wouldn't hurt."

"You'll thank me tomorrow," Danny said, standing. "You would have been half dead by the morning if I hadn't come along."

Maddie raised a brow, "...what _were_ you doing up so late anyway, Danny?"

"Oh," said Danny, "I was just... I was looking for the first aid kit."

"Why? Are you hurt?"

He looked uncomfortable. "It's nothing, really, just a small headache... it's fine."

"Did you get some aspirin?"

Danny nodded, avoiding his mother's eyes. "I'm going to bed."

Maddie watched Danny's retreat, wondering if she should say something. The pile of incomplete paperwork caught her attention, however, and soon enough the encounter was pushed to the back of her mind. Right now, her body demanded sleep.

* * *

Danny hurried upstairs and into his room, clicking the door shut as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.

He approached the mirror and stuck a finger in his mouth, prodding at his swollen gums. His flesh was grazed by something sharp and pointed protruding from them, a slight point of white visible if he tilted his head just so. It throbbed.

He recoiled and looked down at the bead of blood seeping from his fingertip, trying his hardest to ignore his growling stomach as the scent hit his nose.

"...It's nothing," he whispered to his reflection. "I'm fine."

* * *

Psst. The Fenton parents are clueless as always.

_(To be continued..?)_


End file.
